


Just Another Day

by turante



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turante/pseuds/turante
Summary: It's Sherlock birthday and everyone seems to insist on celebrating it, except a certain detective inspector.





	Just Another Day

Sherlock glanced at the screen of his phone and groaned, actually groaned aloud. That dreaded day had arrived that year too. He considered sticking his head under the pillow and hiding in his room for the rest of the day but knew it would be useless. Resigned, he got up and dressed. He found John already up and a cup of tea waiting for him. "Good morning," said John, entirely casually. Sherlock didn't know whether to believe him or not.

"Morning," he replied neutrally, and started sipping the tea.

The doorbell rang and John went to open it without even considering the possibility of asking Sherlock. A nondescript delivery boy handed John a package, nodded to Sherlock and left, leaving the doctor puzzled in the doorway. "What just happened?" he turned the package and saw a card on it. "It's for you."

"I know."

"It's from Mycroft."

"I know that too. Please ignore it."

But now John's curiosity was piqued. "Do you also know what it is?"

"Not yet, but I can probably narrow it down to a dozen possibilities. How heavy is it?"

"The card says you're to invite me too to dinner at his place. Tonight. For your birthday. Sherlock, why is this the first I hear about it?"

"Because it's highly annoying. So I made it another year, another full trip around the sun," he rolled his eyes as he said that for John’s benefit, "I don't see the point in celebrating."

John gave him that look which clearly stated he believed Sherlock was slightly insane but chose to keep silent in the name of friendship – it was one really BAMFy look.

"Do what you want, but I'm not going to show up for Mycroft’s celebratory toast," Sherlock said from his favourite sulking spot.

"I can't go without you," John tried to explain reasonably, "besides; I don't even know where Mycroft lives."

Sherlock shrugged. "Believe me, that is not an issue." He checked his phone and sighed. A birthday text from Mummy. He typed a quick response saying he was too busy to go to Mycroft's and got an answer saying she could see through his lie in the text but that she loved him anyway – it was Mummy, alright.

By lunchtime Mrs. Hudson brought up a home-cooked lunch for them, and cake, much to Sherlock's displeasure.

John was smiling and cheering and Mrs. Hudson insisted on kissing him; Sherlock gritted his teeth and endured it, while John did his best to save him from having the birthday song sung to him.

Later that afternoon he received a text from Lestrade. 

_"New evidence found on the Perkins murder. Interested?"_

Followed by another text saying to meet him at the Yard's evidence locker directly.

Sherlock grabbed his coat as he made for the door, bidding farewell to John.

He reached Lestrade, who, despite the text he sent him, was waiting for him at the main entrance.

“So, is this some sort of gift?” Sherlock asked, thinking that it didn’t really bother him quite as much as Mycroft’s or Mrs. Hudson’s insistence that he celebrated the anniversary of his birth.

“What for?” Lestrade asked, raising his eyebrows a bit, inquiringly.

Sherlock studied his face. Lestrade was a rather accomplished liar, but he wasn’t that good. “It’s the day of the Epiphany, right?”

“Ah, yes, all that. Well, no. I simply thought I could use your brain to get home early,” he shrugged, “follow me,” he instructed, leading Sherlock down many familiar corridors until they were in front of the right room.

They spent the rest of the afternoon searching through the old boxes of evidence, rummaging through them and examining the content for mislabelled ones.

It was half past seven when Lestrade suggested they retired.

“Fancy some Thai as we look at the rest of these at my place?” Lestrade asked, running his fingers through his hair.

“Good, I had no plans for dinner.” Sherlock said honestly; after all he never had any intention of showing up at Mycroft’s.

Sherlock then spent the following ten minutes ignoring the insisting vibration from his pocket.

When it stopped, Lestrade pulled out his mobile and answered. “Hello?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and resigned himself for the inevitable.

“Yes, I’m sure of it. In fact he’s right here,” Lestrade said, continuing to walk, still holding one heavy box, while Sherlock was carrying another one and a small pile of folder files. To his credit, he didn’t glance at Sherlock once as he answered to Mycroft’s interrogation. “I don’t think so, urgent police business, he’s helping me. Well, it’s important to _me_ ,” he ended before slamming the phone shut and brusquely ending the call. “Your brother is a pushy, spoiled, annoying, pretentious prat,” this time he turned to look at Sherlock, “must be a family trait,” he teased with a smile.

“Anything else you want to add?"

"No I think I'm fine. So Thai at my place it is?"

Sherlock smiled despite himself. "Yes, good, whatever."

They spent the evening going over the case again in light of the new evidence, which cleared the only suspect they had and shook but didn't invalid another's alibi.

"There must be something. It's too... perfect. Nothing adds up so perfectly." Lestrade said, holding in his two hands two sheets of paper listing the items stolen from the victim's flat and the spouse's list for the insurance. "There isn't even a pin unaccounted for. You have to admit it's odd."

Sherlock's eyes widened in realization. "Oh, yes! Insurance fraud." he gasped, grabbing the pieces of paper from him and scanning them. "I always knew you were brilliant!" he smacked a kiss on the corner of Lestrade's mouth and tried to get up, unsuccessfully because the man held him there by an arm.

"That's it? A peck on the lips and you're rushing off?”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Why, were you expecting more?”

Lestrade smirked, “One can always hope... and after all, I don’t think it will make any difference if we hand in this evidence first thing tomorrow morning.”

“And what do you plan to do now?”

“Celebrate your unbirthday?” he said, glancing at his watch. It was past midnight.

“You know, I think yours is the only present I liked.”


End file.
